


humans and their filthy friendship (it brings nothing but trouble)

by oncewewerezombies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baking, Canon Disabled Character, Cherubs (Homestuck), Domestic Fluff, Enemies, Gen, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24996172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: A: "If I go watch you die by eating raw dough your human body is too weak to consume, will you stop talking?"B: "No. But I'll let you eat chocolate chips from the bag."A: "...Deal."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28
Collections: June 2020 - Lonely Lines





	humans and their filthy friendship (it brings nothing but trouble)

You hunch over your folded arms where you're hunched on your seat at the kitchen table, watching as Jane potters around the room in a deceptively simple way, doing her inscrutable baking actions that somehow lead to delicious sugary treats. Your back teeth grind softly, repetitively, over each other as you watch her, your feverishly crimson eyes tracking her every move. Anyone else watching this fat bitch move around her culinary domain would have had the foolishness to think she was not a threat; ha! You know better. You know who she is, what she is, and what she could be capable of if she really tried.

It's disgusting that she never really _tries_. It feels like a travesty watching her be _nice_ to people who don't deserve it and think that she is weak and soft because she's fat and bakes. You know exactly how much muscle is lying underneath that deceptively cushioned frame and you hate everyone who looks down on her. You hate her too, but it's different. She knows you back just as much, both of you digging into each other's bones and looking under the skin so you can hate each other and enjoy it. Jane is very strong. If she wasn't a bitch, she would make a peak alpha male.

"Are you just going to watch me all day, Caliborn?" she asks finally, probably when the grinding of your teeth gets on her nerves. A large bowl is cradled against the support of her rounded belly, strong arm moving in rhythmic motions as she beats the batter into submission. Jane is tidy compared to some of the other humans you've watched perform unknowable acts of cookery. Eggshells are dropped into the trash receptacle once they're cracked open and delivered their oozing goods to the dry materials waiting anticipatorily for liquid to turn into goo, any spray of flour is wiped up to leave the counters clean. It's efficient. Competent. You like that. You shift uncomfortably on your seat, pretending as though competency was one of the last things you find achingly erotic. "You know I'd be happy to teach you how to bake at anytime you were willing, hoo hoo!"

"Stupid. Why would I want to learn, how to bake. When I can have a culinary slave who does these things for me?" you sniff disdainfully to put her in her place, and look away from her for a moment to rest your chin up on your hand. Making it even more obvious that you are giving her a cold shoulder. The soft chuckle from her general physical space shows that she doesn't really believe you, but you linger on with ignoring her filthy human presence for a few moments more before your curiosity draws you back to look at her again. 

She's got the spoon in her mouth, obviously eating the cookie batter off it. That's so. _Filthy_.

"Cat got your tongue?" she inquires, and then gives the curved surfaces of the spoon another lingering lick. With the texture and stickability of the cookie dough, she has to really work to get the moist batter off the wooden surface of the spoon and your own tongue flicks in sympathy without you telling that it could. Tasting vanilla and warm mammalian flavours on the warm air, propelled by the heat of the warming oven. You shift again in your seat at the table, and squint balefully at her. Cake magicking witch. "Mm! You know, this is just... _really yummy_. Absolutely scrumptious!"

She laughs again, low and sugary warm like stretched-out toffee, and you watch her breasts strain against the restraints of her shirt, your real leg jittering nervously while your prosthetic hangs almost limply. This bitch. The unmitigated gall of her to be so fat and sexy while eating cookie dough. You really really hate her. It's very unfair.

"If I watch you die by eating raw dough your human body is too weak to consume, will you stop talking?" you say, as though you don't really care. But you do care. You do. You just don't want her to know that - or anyone else. Your tongue tastes the air again, and she smiles at you with all of her teeth showing. Humans are stupid to think that the buckteeth doesn't actually make her smile more terrifying. 

"No. But I'll let you eat chocolate chips from the bag."

You consider this for a moment, before nodding begrudgingly. You suppose it's better than nothing, and even if cooking chocolate is nowhere near as good as real chocolate, it's still sugar. Sort of. In a way. It'll do, before the cookies appear smelling fragrantly sweet from the oven. You'll take the sops before you're able to get into the real _meat_ of the matter.

"...Deal."

Your dismissive tone makes it obvious that you're humouring her, and she chuckles low and deep before putting down the bowl and going to wash her hands clean to mould the dough into balls on the tray - but not before she pushes the open bag full of chocolate chips towards you. Deciding that this is enough tribute for you, you pick out one, then another with the tips of your claws and pop the chips into your mouth. Chewing them with vicious and avaricious intent, you slit your eyes at her and watch as she continues with her malicious bakery ways, spacing dollops of dough out onto the greased tray.

"Any time you feel bored of watching me, you're very welcome to find a new occupation, snake boy."

"Shut up, bitch, and make me cookies," you say grumpily, and pull the bag of chocolate chips closer to you so you can bury your face in it and just use your tongue to curl bits of chocolate out of it and into your mouth. With one elegant middle finger extended, capped with a candyred nail, she goes to do just that. But not because you tell her, you're more than aware of that.

Jane does as Jane wants. And since she keeps feeding you, you suppose you'll keep sticking around. At least until the cookies run out.

There is absolutely no other reason to be here at all. What are you? Some kind of weak, pitiable, pathetic human, snivelling pathetically for scraps of affection and some sort of friendly relationship? Ha! As if. You would never stoop so fucking low. You're a cherub, for fuck's sake. A male cherub; you measure yourself against your sister because you've never really met another cherub, but you think the point would still stand. You are, obviously superior in every way. 

"You're lucky I think you're cute," Jane remarks while she bends down to slide the tray into the oven and your eyes bug out in rage, distracted even from the sight of her plump, cakesquashing ass. How _dare_ she even try to insinuate something like that with her filthy painted mouth! You throw the packet of chocolate chips at her head to ensure you knows what you think of _that_ and then regret it immediately, because you hadn't actually eaten all of them. She ignores you, and keeps talking about things you don't care about. Like how she feels and how the other people you know are doing. You _don't care_ , you don't have the words to describe how much you don't care. Yet, at the end. There are cookies. Somehow, Jane even manages to get you to participate in the act of _tidying the kitchen_ with her, and you think that's another sort of witchcraft all in itself, outside of the bakery business.

So you suppose you can listen to her weak sentimental female blatherings another time. When the need for cookies arises in your hungering belly once more.

You think it could even be tomorrow.


End file.
